A Station Eight Fan Web Site
Displaying 1 record.
TUESDAY, JULY 1, 2003:
Woke up and like an addict went back to Krispy Kreme in Penn Station for three (or, okay, maybe four more donuts).
At 9am I met Carol, Greg Bishansky and Aaron out in front of the hotel for what would turn out to be "Mr. Bishansky's Wild Ride".
Greg had originally wanted to leave at 9:30. But I had an 11:35 flight out of LaGuardia to catch, and not wanting to take any chances, I insisted on 9:00 sharp.
Said goodbye to Carol and Aaron and wound up leaving about 9:10ish.
Greg had directions. He also had a car that was making a real odd noise, but he assured me it was driving fine. When it started stalling periodically, I got a bit nervous, but he was always able to start it right up again, so I hid my concerns.
We talked. Mostly, as I recall about League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. It was nice and I wasn't paying very close attention to where we were going. Until I happened to look up and notice we were at 8th and 24th. I couldn't figure out why he had taken us this far west and south. He apologized. Said the directions were confusing, but now he was on the right track. However when we passed the hotel again at 9:45, I figured I better start navigating.
To be fair, there were a number of street closures that kept screwing us up. And then came the accident, which was absolutely NOT Greg's fault. We were waiting at a red light, when a commercial van sideswiped Greg's car, clipping off his driver's side mirror. We pulled over. The van driver got out, but instead of coming to see us, he ran over to a bus and started yelling at the driver. It was kinda like cosplay. He clearly wanted us to think that somehow the accident was the bus driver's fault. But we were at a dead stop when he hit us, so even if he was cut off, there's no way that hitting us wasn't HIS fault. Period.
Anyway, while he yelled at the bus, which ignored him and drove off, I wrote down his license plate and the truck owner info for Greg. The guy then came over and threw a twenty at Greg, saying "Here's twenty to fix your mirror and besides this was NOT my fault."
Now, I was faced with a moral dilemma, that one could argue I failed at. Neither Greg nor I thought that $20 would fix his mirror. I should have advised him to get out of the car and exchange Drivers license and insurance info with the van driver. And absolutely NOT to accept the $20 as a payment. But Greg seemed willing to move on, and I was seriously concerned about how late it was getting. So I let Greg drive on. My bad.
Also my bad for using the expression my bad. Uggghhh.
I directed Greg to the Midtown Tunnel, asking if he knew how to get to the airport from there. He said yes. This would prove to be something of a little white lie.
We pull up to the toll booth just beyond the tunnel. Greg digs for the $4 to pay the toll and I yell, "STOP!" Too late. He rear ends the car in front of him. Okay, now this one was TOTALLY Greg's fault. I'd be more upset, but even then, I'm thinking, "Two accidents en route to the airport. This is so out there. It'll make a great story for ASK GREG."
Anyway, the victim pulls over while we pay our toll. I'm focused on him, and am only peripherally aware of Greg getting directions to LaGuardia from the Toll Booth Guy. In the back of my mind it occurs to me that Greg may not quite know what he's doing.
Fortunately, there was no damage to the victim's car. He drove off. We drove off. We then missed our exit (17) to change freeways for LaGuardia. The next exit was closed. The remaining glass in Greg's broken mirror was flapping around in the wind, so I finally asked him to just pull it off before it took out one of our jugulars.
We got off at exit 19 and turned around to head back. No U turn of course. So I made my second morally challenged call of the day and basically ordered Greg to make an illegal U. He did. We got back on the freeway.
As we approached exit 18 (Morris Street, I think), Greg was sure he knew how to get to LaGuardia from there. I asked him twice, as our exit was supposed to be 17. But he was sure. He got off. And almost immediately said, "I don't recognize anything." I said, "Greg, you're killing me here." But I think I was still half joking at that point.
We turned around and got back on the freeway to head for 17. Major traffic jam now. Greg says, "Lucky, you're flight doesn't leave until noon." I kinda blow a small gasket and remind him at leaves at 11:35. As it was now 10:35, I felt that we should be there already, given security lines and all.
We finally reach 17. He heads west. And again, immediately says he doesn't recognize anything. Without asking, he gets off the freeway again. This time when I say, "Greg, you're killing me here!" I'm really not joking at all. I'm pretty pissed off. (Of course, this time it turns out he was right. We were heading the exact wrong direction. So it was a very good thing that he got off.)
Greg was looking for someone to give us directions. The first guy he asked spoke no English, but the second guy actually gave us GREAT directions. Thank you, stranger.
We got back on the freeway, heading East. But by the time he dropped me off at the airport departure level it was 11:10. Let me just say that two hours to get to LaGuardia from Penn Station is not really making good time, especially considering we only hit two little bursts of traffic.
Anyway, he went to park in case, as now seemed likely, I missed my flight. I went inside. There was a huge line at U.S.Airways, so I approached one of those e-ticket check in machines, but it said you needed a frequent flyer card for that. So then I approached the guy manning the EMPTY first class line. I asked if he would help me, explaining that though I was not a first class passenger, my flight was leaving in twenty minutes and I didn't think I'd make it through the coach line in time.
His response: "Well, you got to wait in the line."
I have to admit, I was a little stunned that he wouldn't help me. I must have given him a look, cuz he said, or you can use the machines. I explained that I didn't have a FF card. He said any credit card would do.
I returned to the machine. I rechecked and it in fact said that I had to have a FF card. But I tried my credit card and it worked fine. Took a minute tops. So the whole thing about needing an FF card is just a trick basically to encourage people to get and/or use their FF cards. Stupid.
Luckily there was no line to speak of at security, and they didn't strip search me or anything, so soon I was running for my gate. It was 11:25 at this point. So it could really go either way. I arrived at the gate -- which was literally the last one in the terminal of course, only to discover that the flight was delayed forty minutes.
Here, I'm torn between happy and upset. After all, I was there against all odds. But mostly I'm just happy I didn't miss it. So I settle down. I call Greg and tell him to go home. All is well, no harm done. I call my father-in-law to let him know that my flight to Nantucket is delayed.
I know I ate again. Can't remember what though.
Got on the plane and arrived in Nantucket.
No one was waiting for me, but their house is so close, I figured they must be on their way and there was no point in calling. So a half hour later, I called, by which time they were -- just -- on their way to get me.
Still, I was there. Went back to the house, then went with my mother-in-law to spend some time with my kids on the beach. I was supposed to watch them and make sure they didn't drown. But I could tell I was drowsy, so I relinquished my responsibility to my mother-in-law and took a little nap.
For dinner that night my in-laws cooked up live New England Lobsters. So good. Then we went into town for some ice cream with the kids. I had a hot fudge sundae with chocolate chip ice cream.
We came back to the house. And pretty much all just went to bed. That was the first night on the entire trip that I went to bed before 1am.
THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES... OR AT LEAST THE VACATION DOES... TOMORROW!